You Wanted a Distraction
by AntiHeroLydia
Summary: After John wakes up from a nightmare, he and Sherlock set off to decode the mysterious messages on Sherlock's website. Along the way, they meet someone who they weren't expecting. (No, it's not Moriarty, sorry). OneShot. /Very slight/ fluff in the beginning. Mini case fic. Edited RP. UA (universe alteration). Rated T 'cause I'm paranoid. Just give it a jab?


This is an RP I did with Tsuzukitheshinigami1 on deviantArt. She was Sherlock and I was John. It started out as sort of a fluff but then it morphed into a mini case fic. I added and removed a few sentences (and paragraphs) so it would make more sense. (I started to get a little bit annoyed with her towards the middle but... S'all good)

This fic goes a little bit all over the place so...enjoy?

betaread by GeorgyannWayson

* * *

It was past three am in England. Most of London was fast asleep. However, despite the time, the living room of the second story flat at 221 B Baker street was dimly lit by the light of a laptop as long, slender fingers typed away furiously.

Sherlock listened intently to the tell tale scream followed by an all too familiar _thud_ and groan from upstairs. It had been exactly two weeks, six hours, and twenty five minutes since he'd first noticed his flatmate's troubled sleeping pattern. He already had several ideas as to what was causing it and the top of his list: the war.

Undoubtedly, John would be staggering down the stairs any time for a cup of tea in an attempt to relax. Lucky for him, Sherlock had already put the kettle on a while before and had set out a tray with all the trappings.

* * *

John cursed as he fell from his bed. Another nightmare. The second one this week. It was getting worse.

He groaned as he pushed himself off the uncomfortable floor. He sat on his bed, the springs moaning as he sank deeper, and sighed. His heart was pounding and he was sweating as if he'd been running. Head in his hands, he hoped to all deities of all religions that Sherlock was not awake, downstairs, and ready to ask questions. He did not want questions right now.

Resigning himself for his need of a cup of tea, he went down the stairs. The adrenaline still active in his system made him stumble on the steps.

He reached the door to the kitchen and prepared himself for the wrath of Sherlock. The door creaked as he opened it.

He couldn't see Sherlock from where he was. _Thank god, the bloke might actually be sleeping._Then he noticed the kettle on and the tray with all the trappings. Another sigh, and a realisation of the audible tap tap of fingers on keys. Nevertheless, he made his tea and snuggled down into his favourite armchair, finally calming down from his atrocious nightmare.

* * *

Not unlike the showoff John often accused him of being, Sherlock was proven right as moments later his flatmate did indeed come stumbling down the stairs, grumbling in discomfort.

He waited until John was comfortable before speaking.

"Trouble sleeping again? Perhaps you should see a therapist. Obviously not the one you _were _seeing as she misdiagnosed you more than once. Do you...want to talk about it? Well, I'm not the best at showing sympathy but I can, in fact, sit here and pretend to be listening," Sherlock said sounding totally sincere as he continued to type away at his laptop. He hadn't even bothered to look over at John since he came down, actually. He was far too engrossed in decoding the messages on his blog.

"No, not really, Sherlock, I don't want to talk about it," he said, then took a sip of his tea. "Thanks for... having the tea ready. Somewhat ready."

Sherlock paused, turning to glance at John, and studied him carefully, his eyes narrowing as his mind raced with deductions. "I'm right aren't I? The fact that you don't want to talk about...rather..._relive _it is proof enough. You wake up screaming...panicked. You come down here, start some tea, and settle down in your armchair trying to calm down nearly every morning for the past two weeks, twenty six hours and..," he paused looking at his watch, "thirty eight minutes now. 'How do you know that Sherlock?' You've been favouring your left side recently because you've been falling out of bed and landing on the hard floor on that side, probably have a nasty bruise. Your scream, racing pulse, and heavy breathing suggests panic. An army doctor recently invalided home having a panic attack in his sleep ? Well, we all know there's only one thing that could cause that. _I hear you _wake up every night, John. You say you don't want to talk about it, but honestly you're just wishing for a bit of decent rest. Am I wrong?" Sherlock finished his speech with steepled hands in front of his face and a glance over at his flat mate.

John stared as his flatmate rattle off his always-perfect deductions. He took a shaky breath and said, "You know that creeps me out sometimes, no matter how extraordinary it is. Yes, it's about Afghanistan, that bit's obvious; and yes, I would _kill_ for a full nights rest, but that's not the point. _Why_ are they coming back? _Why_ have they started up again?" He plopped back in his armchair-he had started to lean forward in excitement during his speech- and stared into the dancing, ever-changing colours of the fire.

Sherlock set his laptop aside, his long legs crossing at the ankle. "Who knows John. Perhaps things have been too boring and dull lately. What happened to all the good criminals? We've hardly had a case in weeks."

As he said this Sherlock's brows furrowed and he froze. "Oh...Ooh! John don't you see it makes perfect sense! That's _exactly_ the reason! I don't know how I didn't notice before. _Stupid_," Sherlock grumbled to himself, picking up his laptop. "Things have been too commonplace, too ordinary, but I have a feeling that that's about to change. Very quickly." Sherlock slipped his laptop over to John. "I've been receiving some messages most people would find disturbing," Sherlock said, opening the first one and showing it to John. It was posted by an anonymous person on 'The Science of Deduction' website. The note simply read:

'Dearest Sherlock

A Roman Emperor will help you work out what this means.

DSPCWZNV T LX HLENSTYR JZF

xx' *

"Well? What do you think?" he asked, plainly waiting expectantly for John's reaction.

Glad for a distraction, John took the problem in haste. "Well, it's obviously a cipher. One letter corresponds with another. Know the right cipher, get the right sentence. Now, the two x's at the end, I would guess, would mean that this anonymous person really fancies you. Roman Emperor... Possibly there was a Roman Emperor who liked puzzles? Had a cipher he commonly used? Or is the actual sentence related to the Roman Emperor?" He glanced up from the screen and asked, "How did I do?"

"Splendidly, John. You barely scratched the surface...but splendidly," Sherlock said boredly. "It's a Caesar Shift cipher. Now, the creator can go left or right and any number of spaces over they like. This particular person chose five spaces to the right. Do you know what it say's, John?"

John was raptly paying attention to every movement Sherlock made.

The detective grabbed a piece of paper and wrote out the correct lettering for each space. The note read:

'Sherlock I'm watching you'

Handing it to John, he stood pacing in front of the fire. "And there was another with a similar message. 'Sherlock I'm coming to get you'." He steepled his fingers in front of his face. "While I'm not really concerned, it is annoying this bloody idiot keeps sending me emails. His messages, I mean, good lord, what's he trying to do? Make it seem like he's stalking me?" As the words left his lips Sherlock froze his pacing and turned to glance at John. No...it couldn't be, right? Surely not. Who would _stalk_ him?

"What? Did you notice something?" John asked when Sherlock stopped pacing. John continued to look through Sherlock's blog, finding the child-like messages that Sherlock spoke of. "What's this?" He pointed to the laptop screen which displayed a photo an anonymous had posted. Sherlock had labeled it 'Hidden Message #3'. "Pigs? What the hell has that to do with anything?"

Sherlock had indeed realised something. Perhaps he did indeed have a stalker. Maybe even an enemy. Perhaps the situation was a lot more serious than he'd first thought.

Clearing his throat as though nothing had happened, he steepled his hands in front of his face again. "'Where is it the pigs live?' That was his last message along with that code. I've been unable to decipher it yet. That was what I was trying to figure out when you came down."

Sighing, Sherlock sauntered over to the sofa and flopped onto it haphazardly, his long body hanging over both ends, arm dangling over the side as he laid there.

"I've looked into every cipher or code breaking method known and none of them work. None of them make any sense. Which means he's either incredibly smart and believes me smart enough to figure out how he came up with it, or it's a load of bollocks and means entirely nothing!" he said, shrugging.

Making sure not to give himself away, Sherlock mentally began trying to recall anyone who could have possibly ever had a grudge against him. And the list was quite long, really. But who could it be? He was certain the last code had been created, which meant the person responsible had intelligence either just slightly below _or_ up to par with his. But who...who could it be? Whatever the case may be he'd have to start keeping an eye out until he knew for certain he wasn't in fact being stalked.

"Well, if you can't figure it out then I as bloody hell won't." John closed the laptop and set in on Sherlock's chair. He glanced at his friend on the couch, he'd practically become a part of the furniture at this point, and said,"Maybe Mycroft is playing with you. Making sure you don't get too bored. Have you tried backtrackig the IP address?"

He took up the laptop again and typed in the password. _Might as well not even have a password on this thing, he always uses it._

Sherlock's blog popped up again and John navigated until he found the cryptic picture. Sometimes if he stared at something long enough the solution would come to him.

Sighing, Sherlock's right arm came down to cover his eyes as if in dismay. "Already tried, it's been blocked. As I said, obviously not stupid. Whoever this was knew I'd likely try that first. Every time I tried I was rerouted." Sighing again softly, he sat up. "In any case it doesn't matter, it's hardly worth calling a case. Likely just some nutter fooling around, perhaps." Although he said that he didn't want to let John know just how serious the situation could possible be. Not now, not yet, anyways. There was no reason to alert John at all. Not when he wasn't certain of anything just yet.

John looked up from the screen and to Sherlock with a smirk. "You're worried, aren't you? No, don't give me that look, I know you are." Sherlock had started to protest, but John quelched it. "You rarely show emotions so when a little bit shows I know that you have some," he proclaimed to Sherlock. "Hm." Now John was suspicious. "Why are you worried?" he said with slight panic.

"Oh, for Christ's sake...I'm not worried, John, I'm entirely fine. Merely bored. That and...well, I hate that he possibly is trying to show me up with that little cipher," Sherlock proclaimed, lying convincingly. He stood and paced again. "You _know_ me. Usually things of that nature come easily to me. So the fact some _random_ person whom I've never even met has possibly outsmarted me is...irritating...even if it is only a stupid little cipher," Sherlock grumbled.

"Hm. It kinda looks like a tic-tac-toe board. But, ya know, broken up," John absentmindedly observed, glancing up at his pacing flatmate. "Would you like to play a round? Since neither of us seem to be going asleep soon. I always win, though," he tried to egg his flatmate into such a childish game.

He knew Sherlock needed some rest, needed to stop being so wound up with this cipher.

"Tic tac toe...? Are you joking?" Sherlock retrieved his coat and scarf that were laying across the back of one of the desk chairs. "Think I'll just pop out for a bit of fresh air; perhaps it'll make me...tired," he said.

Opening the door to the flat, he slipped out, closed the door behind him, headed down the stairs, and outside.

John stared at the closed door his friend just left through. _He'll freeze out there, _John thought. After contemplating if he should go and get him, he decided that the detective was smart enough to know to come back in soon, before frost bite set it.

On second thought...did he? He wouldn't eat or sleep, so what would keep him from ignoring his body's need for warmth? These thoughts raced trough John's head. _Shit..._ He quickly closed the laptop. He swiped his coat, put on his boots, and followed his flatmate outside.

Not seeing him, he took a guess and turned left down the road.

* * *

Damn...he'd been hoping John wouldn't follow him. He needed space to clear his mind and figure out just how he was doing to handle this situation.

His only chance would be to give John the slip, somehow make a turn and slip away when John wasn't looking. If someone was indeed stalking him...why? What would be their purpose? Revenge was the obvious reason but that would lead to an endless amount of suspects. This was personal...and recent.

He planned on stopping by Scotland Yard to see if Lestrade was still in. Sometimes he was there late doing paperwork.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he made a quick right turn down an alleyway pulling his coat tighter around himself, confident he'd moved fast enough to shake John off; at least for now.

He pulled out his mobile and phoned Lestrade. He was indeed still at Scotland Yard finishing some paperwork on a case. After informing the Inspector that he planned to stop by, Sherlock hung up, popping his coat collar, and pulling it up tight around his neck against the cold.

* * *

John shivered. _What the bloody hell was he thinking!?_ he thought angrily of his flatmate. Sherlock could've just gone to his room or something, not walking out in below freezing weather. Now, he was looking around for a tall detective that he was unlikely to find- Sherlock's knowledge of all the backstreets of London to his advantage.

John contemplated if he should call out. No, that would just give away his position, make Sherlock go farther away. It was like looking for a dog that ran away.

His teeth chattered and he could barely feel his lips. During his time in Afghanistan made him more accustomed to warmer weather, not cold. His shoulder ached. _Come out, you sod. You'll freeze._

He pulled his coat tighter around himself, shielding against the cold. White puffs of air materialized in front of his mouth, confirming the temperature.

A swish of black fabric appeared around the corner, quickly out of sight. "Sherlock, wait!"

He ran around the corner to find a dead end alleyway, empty. Hoping Sherlock was hiding somewhere he couldn't see, he said, "You'll freeze out here, just come back, please. I won't bother you." He received no reply. "Well, then. Just come back before you get frostbite, alright? And that won't be long, so be home soon." He thought about phoning him, see if he could hear it ring. Sherlock probably would have guessed he'd try that and turned it on silent already. He wouldn't waste his time.

Hearing John's voice, Sherlock sighed and stepped into the light of the alley. "If you're coming then keep up..," Sherlock said, glancing at John.

He could tell the cold was hurting his shoulder. Pulling his coat tighter around him he turned again and continued walking having no doubt that John would follow.

John chuckled, Sherlock walking a few feet in front of him. The berk.

"So where we going? Is it far?"

Glancing down at himself he noticed he was still in his pyjamas, and he didn't remember Sherlock changing before he left.

"Okay, if we're going somewhere public I'd like to put on proper clothes first," he proclaimed.

"I need to see Lestrade about something." Sighing, he turned to look at John. "Fine, we'll stop back at the flat so you can _change_ since you've apparently decided to start caring about what you look like when you go out."

Turning right when they got out the alley, he started them on the quickest route back to Baker Street.

Damn it...he'd wanted to talk to Lestrade alone so as not to alert John to the situation! But John was impossible to shake.

John pulled his head up, looked around, and said, "I'll pretend I wasn't insulted."

They arrived and they both quickly swapped out their clothing for ones decent to be seen in. John came down the stairs to find Sherlock staring at John's laptop screen. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Wrapping his scarf around his neck, Sherlock headed for the door. He texted Lestrade explaining he'd had an unexpected stop off and that he'd be there in a few moments. As he slipped down the stairs, he began thinking of ways he could talk with Lestrade without John hearing.

"So... Lestrade. I'm surprised he's still working," John said to the back of Sherlock's head. "I'm assuming we're going to walk? Seeing as it's past three in the morning and no cabs will be running?"

He really didn't want to walk, but he wasn't going to let Sherlock out of his sight, lest he did something stupid and got himself hurt. Jesus, it was like taking care of a child.

Continuing to walk, Sherlock fished his phone out of his pocket. "He's doing paperwork so I told him I'd be dropping by."

Sherlock made a turn down another alley and when they came out they were right in front of Scotland Yard. Going inside, Sherlock headed straight for Lestrade's office.

The Inspector groaned irritably at the mound of paperwork in front of him. Hearing footsteps, he glanced up to see Sherlock. "What the bloody hell do you need at this time of night Sherlock?" He asked, his brows furrowed.

Sherlock ushered John out the door, "Wait, what are you-" before shutting it in his face.

"I need you to track an IP address for me. Don't ask why I just need you to do it."

Giving the string of numbers to Lestrade, the Inspector blinked. "Isn't this...the sorta thing you'd have done?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I already tried. I'm rerouted every time I try to track it," Sherlock said, bored at having to explain himself again.

Lestrade frowned. "But...if they're blocking it what makes you think it'll be different from here," he asked curiously.

Sherlock grumbled, "It was blocked from _my _computer. Well, I say mine but really it's John's. Anyways, they don't want _me_ to track it so it's been blocked from the IP addresses at Baker street. But perhaps not from another IP address," Sherlock explained quickly.

Lestrade opened up a program on his computer. "So you think that since we're not at Baker street that this'll work," he said more as a statement than a question.

Sherlock nodded. "That's exactly what I think." He watched as Lestrade typed the IP address in. The loading circle went round and round until it said 'Could Not Locate. Try Again?'.

"Ugh, wonderful," Sherlock growled in irritation.

* * *

John tried to protest but he eventually consented. Why the hell didn't Sherlock want him to know what he and Greg were talking about? Sherlock was always honest with John. Well...no, scratch that. Sherlock was the _most_ _honest_ with John. If he is willing to talk to Lestrade but not John... No, he said he wasn't worried.

_Rule 1: Sherlock lies_

John sighed and rested his head in his left hand. So, Sherlock was worried. Worried enough to come to Lestrade in the middle of the night, not wait till morning.

What about? What would unsettle Sherlock so much he'd go to Lestrade for help? John had no idea.

John heard Greg's rough voice sounding very tried and irritable, and Sherlock's baritone talking fast and monotonous. He saw Sherlock pacing back and forth with his fingers to his lips. Hm, antsy then.

* * *

Greg frowned at the screen. "What is this all about, Sherlock?" Greg asked, turning round to look at him.

Sherlock sighed. "It means it wasn't just blocked from the IP addresses at Baker Street. He's blocked it indefinitely. We can't track it no matter where we try; it would simply be the same result."

Greg frowned. "Right but... Why, Sherlock, what is this about? Who were you tryin' to track?" He asked.

Sherlock continued pacing furiously. "I've received several strange messages on my blog. The first two were in ciphers already known in existance. But the third...the third was a created cipher. A cipher known to no one until now! The person created it themselves. It takes ages and careful throught processess to contruct a cipher."

Greg glanced at Sherlock. "I'm guessing the messages weren't good? Else you wouldn't have bothered to come here."

Sherlock nodded. "They were blatent threats. The said they were...watching me." Sherlock's brows furrowed.

Greg shrugged. "Could just be...a fan? Messing with you I suppose?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Thought so, too, at first until I noticed the blocked IP address. Why go through all that trouble unless they didn't want me to know who they were? That and their cipher shows that their intelligence level is impeccably high."

* * *

John glanced around the room, seeing if there was anything to entertain himself with. His phone was almost dead, so he couldn't do anything with that.

Eventually he stole a piece of paper and a pen from someone's desk and commenced to work on the cipher.

From what his memory told him, there were squares, some with lines missing, and triangles with a line missing. Some of them had dots in the center.

He wrote down what he could remember and just stared at it for a second. He couldn't get the thought if a tic tac toe board out of his mind so he played a few rounds, doing both sides; trying to outwin himself.

Something tickled in the back of his mind. Something that told him he should be remembering something. Something that seemed innocuous at first but was now relevant.

He drew a blank tic tac toe board. Then a second with dots inside the squares, closest to the center. He then drew two large X's, one of which had dots in each angle. _Bloody hell..._ he thought.

He wrote one letter of the alphabet in each of the squares and angles. **

Staring at the paper for another second, he stood up and walked over to the window into Lestrade's office. He knocked three times on it with his knuckle. Sherlock stopped pacing and looked toward the window, surprised. Lestrade seemed startled, as if he forget John was there.

John placed the paper on the glass, his hand keeping it in place, showing the two what he found.

Sherlock's eyes widened even more so. He swung open the door and pulled John inside the office. Greg sighed. "So...someone really is stalking you."

Sherlock nodded. "Looks that way..."

John's eyes zipped between the two, utterly confused as to what was going on.

Greg shrugged. "Who did you piss off this time?" the Inspector asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If I cataloged everyone I ever pissed off for solving a crime and sending them to jail, the list would be unending."

Lestrade stared pointedly at the detective. "So what do we do about it?"

"Nothing," he said plainly.

John finally found his voice. "Wait, wait, someone's _stalking _you? I'm not surprised, but you didn't notice? And you're not going to do anything about it?" He put a hand to Sherlock's chest as he tried to leave.

Sherlock hated being watched. He searched the flat as often as he could for Mycroft's cameras. He didn't like being observed. And he wasn't going to try and change that?

Sherlock rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Oh, don't look at me like that John. There's nothing I _can_ do that's why I came here. I thought perhaps I could track the IP address but I can't. They've blocked it from being traced," Sherlock said, fixing his coat and popping the collar stylishly.

Greg glanced over at John before looking to Sherlock. "So you're not gonna do anything. You. Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock sighed. "My god, don't either of you listen? There's nothing we can do. They're smart enough to avoid detection so the only thing we can do is wait for them to make a mistake. Leave something I can trace and track back to them." He opened the door and slipped out of the room.

Greg sighed looking over at John. "I'm afraid he's right. We tried tracing it. I wish there were more I coulda done but honestly we've little to go on. Keep an eye on him will you? If anything happens, let me know."

"Alright, Greg, will do," John replied and wheeled around to follow the detective out the door.

Greg put his head in his hands. He glanced up and groaned at the impending doom of all the paperwork he still needed to do. Sherlock was a nice distraction but that didn't last long. The door slammed and he was knocked from his reverie.

* * *

Sherlock just got off the phone with someone when John caught up with him. He took the paper out of his pocket, hoping talking would distract him from the cold.

"So, we're just going to wait? You said yourself that he's smart, what if he doesn't make a mistake? What will you do then?"

"Either way, I don't really have a choice now do I, John? I've nothing to go on other than those messages. I can't track him unless he messes up, leaves something behind. All I can do is wait. Bit exciting, though, isn't it?" Sherlock said, grinning deviously. "Closest thing we've had to case in weeks!"

John laughed and said,"You're the only person I know that gets excited that they're being stalked. Remind me to not introduce you to Facebook..," he added offhandedly.

He unfolded the paper and handed it to Sherlock. "So, think you can get somewhere with this?"

Sherlock frowned. "Yes, let me have a look at that." Sherlock unfolded the paper and found five different games of tic-tac-toe scattered around the top half of the page. At the bottom were two more but with letters and dots along with two X's with letters and dots. "John, how'd what made you think to do it like this?"

"I don't know, sometimes if I stare at something long enough something clicks and I just wrote down what came to mind," he said, shrugging.

Sherlock was squinting at the paper and silently mouthing some words John couldn't hear. He decided not to ask about it.

The detective handed John the piece of paper.

"Hm." John folded it and placed it back in his pocket. They continued to traverse the cold streets of morning London and arrived back at their flat. "Jesus, I have to be at work in three hours..," John realised, dropping his head. "There is no way I'm going to get a decent nights rest anytime soon," he sighed, then unlocked the door. Sherlock went up the stairs first, then John.

"Mhnn, you won't have to, already informed them you weren't feeling your best and that you'd need today off. Feel free to thank me later."

John chuckled. "Where in the world do you find time for all of this? You've already called? Jesus, you really want me to stay home today, don't you?" Sherlock didn't respond.

He put up his coat and walked into the kitchen. "More tea?" he asked. The kettle Sherlock boiled when he woke up that morning had gone cold.

"Yes, thank you."

John set the kettle to boil and waited. He walked to the living room and sat in his armchair with a contented sigh.

John was tired. After walking about in the cold, his shoulder was stiff and achy. He was thinking of resting then and there, since he wouldn't be going to work that day. Hm. Nice, that. Sherlock could be generously kind sometimes.

Sherlock glanced over, noting that John looked about to keel over from exhaustion. "You look terrible, John. Get some rest. Can't have everyone seeing me run about with you when you're looking like that." Sherlock collapsed on the sofa, one long arm and both legs dangling over it as he let out a soft sigh.

The kettle beeped. John turned around in his chair and made a tired exhale. He got up and poured him and Sherlock some tea. He set Sherlock's cup on the coffee table in front of the couch. "You should get some sleep, too. Seriously, I don't remember the last time I saw you sleep."

John trudged up the stairs, Sherlock watching. He plopped onto his bed and groaned into the pillow._ I don't ever remember being so tired..._

* * *

Steepling his hands in front of his face, Sherlock tried to focus his thoughts.

Sherlock sighed softly as he got up and rummaged through papers on his desk before giving up trying to find what he was looking for. He began scouring through his books.

The shadows under his eyes showed how tired he was, yet he couldn't sleep knowing he hadn't solved the last message.

Sighing and letting out an irritated growl, he ruffled his dark curly hair in frustration. Sherlock haphazardly tossed the book he was holding aside before flipping through another.

Several moments later a creeking sound caught his attention and he paused, listening, his brows knitted in a frown. It wasn't John, the sound was too far away. Bottom of the stairs then. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be awake because of her "herbal soothers".

Sherlock groaned. _Nooo... I don't want to deal with right now..._

* * *

He froze. Waited. _Did he hear? Most likely._

He heard movement start up again so he continued up stairs. The door opened with a creak. "Hello, Sherlock," he smiled.

Sherlock's back was to the door and he continued to glance at the book he was holding, as if unfazed. "I should have known it would be you. The messages had you written all over them," Sherlock said, his voice calm and unwavering. How could he have been so stupid?

* * *

"Been a long while, hasn't it, brother dear?" Sherrinford stalked into the room.

He could see why Mycroft carried around that umbrella all the time, he wished he could do some dramatic gesture, like twirling it around. He settled for doing a small bow.

"Did you like my messages? Keep you from getting bored?"

Sherrinford sat down in the leftmost chair. Hm, it was comfortable. Nice and warm. But Sherlock had two armchairs. He would never have more than needed. Ah... So he had a flatmate now. Hm.

"So, I see you have a flatmate? Where is he? Or her? Well, I'm surprised you found someone willing. Or is he new and doesn't know you quite yet? Dear me, I have a lot of questions for you," Sherrinford folded his hands on his lap and waited for Sherlock to react.

_Ugh, he's worth than Mycroft... _Sherlock sighed, bored. "As ever you and Mycroft have no problem butting into my personal life. How I wish you'd both go jump off a cliff together," he said, sinking into the sofa with a sigh.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, you know that's my thing," he said, admiring his nails. "So, have you figured it out yet? My last message?"

Sherrinford had gotten so incredibly bored that he sent his littlest brother ciphers in hope of elevating his own boredom. He watched the CCTV across Baker Street of Sherlock pacing back and forth in his flat. Oh, he loved messing with him. But then Mycroft called him to his attention and he dropped the situation.

Sherlock rolled his eyes "Oh, yes terribly clever. 'Sherlock I have found you'? Utterly ridi-"

"Oh, but what about the pigs, brother?" Sherrinford interrupted. Sherlock opened and closed his mouth like a fish, annoyed. "I want to see the cipher, so I know you actually solved it."

Sherrinford crossed his legs and placed his chin on a fist, facing Sherlock on the couch. "Well?"

Sherlock grumbled and got up to retrieve the paper from John's coat. He tossed it to his brother. Sherrinford caught it effortlessly. "There. Satisfied? Now, WHAT .DO. YOU. WANT?"

Sherrinford continued to smile coyly. That coat that Sherlock took the cipher out of was too broad in the shoulders and too short on the torso for it to be Sherlock's. Ah, so his flatmate solved it, then. Sherrinford knew the answer would be too childish for Sherlock to come up with. He tried to make it difficult.

"You wouldn't come here for just anything so let's end this stupid guessing game and simply tell me already."

"Ah, but I like the guessing game! You remember that, Sherlock?" he said, examining the paper. "Let's see... I'm guessing that you have had a flatmate for..," he glanced around the flat,"I'd say a year? Oh, that's surprising. Never thought anyone could stand living with you. Going off that, I'd say he or she is acclimated to danger, likes it even. I'm going with a 'he' because of that coat over there and I could never see you living with a female. I've never even seen you talk to one unless necessary. Anywho, he's upstairs, yes? Sleeping I assume? I'd like to meet him. Would that be okay? I know you two just got home because the doorknob was still a little warm when I came in. He might still be awake. Why were you out at the time of night, little brother? You know it's dangerous to go out at night. I'd say you were out drinking but you don't smell of alcohol. You kind of ruined my surprise visit; I was going to make you breakfast in the morning whe you woke up. Pooh, you plan-ruiner," he frowned. "How about I tell you why I'm here after I meet your friend? I'd like to meet the person that can stand you, that's quite a feat I must say." He smiled and sat back in the chair.

Sherlock grumbled irritably. "John is likely asleep at the moment and I doubt he'll wake up till dawn, and you are not staying that long. He's already met Mycroft and that was bad enough." Sherlock stood, crossed over to the door, and opened it. "Now if you'd be so kind as to remove yourself from my flat. Unless, of course, you want to end up tossed head first out the window onto the street. Don't tempt me, I've done it before"

"Oh," the elder Holmes pouted,"don't be such a bore. You're getting very predictable. I was just starting to get comfortable. I haven't seen my littlest brother in a emlong/em time; don't you want me to stay and chat?" he mocked hurt.

Sherlock groaned softly in annoyance. "Look...sod off. Go and pester Mycroft or something. You're both good at that; you can see who could out annoy each other," Sherlock sneered.

Sherrinford sighed in exasperation. "Fine. Whatever. Don't spend time with me..," he mimed tears. He stood up elegantly despite his tall frame. "I'll come back 'round later today. When you're in a better mood and ready to hear and listen to what I have to say." He strode over to the door and stopped by Sherlock, looking down at him. "Oh, and do give this... 'John' my love." He took Sherlock's shoulder, leaning his brother toward himself, and placed a kiss on his dark curls. "Ta." He smiled and waved his fingers as he strut out the door.

Unable to control himself, Sherlock growled exasperatedly. "John, come downstairs!" he bellowed loudly, before slumping onto the sofa with a scowl.

* * *

John suddenly flailed awake. _What the hell?!_

He didnt know what was said that woke him up, but he did know it was Sherlock yelling. It was still echoing in his ears.

He opened his side drawer and pulled out his gun and ran downstairs.

"Sherlock, what'd you yell for? Is everything all right?" He slid at the bottom of the stairs and stopped. Who was this giant? He stared at the tall, curly haired brunette in front of him. The man stared back like John was a specimen in a museum. "Who are you," he demanded, his gun still at his side.

* * *

Sherlock heard John come to a stop and winced as he heard John ask who his brother was. He probably had his gun with him, too. Should've gone up and woken him up himself.

Sherlock sighed softly, not bothering to look up. "John, you can put your pistol away. This is my eldest brother. He's apparently come by to piss me off and wished to meet you," Sherlock grumbled.

"You're-?" John hurriedly put the pistol in the desk drawer in the hallway. "You have _another_ brother? Sorry, hi," he stretched his hand out for the new brother to shake.

John could see the family resemblance. The curly brown hair and high cheekbones were obviously a family trait. But this new brother's face wasn't as long as Sherlock's; it was slightly more round and had a prominent jaw line. He was beginning to wonder if Mycroft was adopted or just got the short end of the gene pool.

"I'm John Watson. Good to meet you." He smiled in a way he hoped wasn't threatening, since he'd just had a gun in his possession. Why is he in at 4 o'clock in the morning?!

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "That's why I called you down. The bloody bastard wouldn't tell me what he wants because he wanted to 'meet the man who can put up with me' first."

"Pleasure to meet you. Name's Sherrinford," he said while shaking John's hand, completely ignoring Sherlock. "Oh, I'm blocking the doorway, how rude of me." He walked back into the living room and sat in what he presumed to be Sherlock's chair. He was correct.

John was completely surprised. One: there were _three_ Holmes brothers; and two: WHY THE BLOODY HELL WAS HE HERE AT 4 O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING. John didn't remember the last time he slept for a full eight hours.

"Would you like some tea, Sherrinford?" Why did they have such weird names? Their mother was ...creative.

"That would be lovely, thank you. Black." He glanced over at the sulking detective and raised his eyebrows as if to say, _Now was that so hard?_

Sherlocks eyes narrowed as his elder brother's lips curling up in a sneer. God, how Sherrinford and Mycroft annoyed the hell out of him. It seemed like their mission in life.

"Well, wonderful, now you've met. Now, spill it," he snarled. "Tell me what you want and then leave. Go bugger Mycroft."

"Oh..," Sherrinford mocked sadness. "You're being mean to me, I don't think I _want_ to tell you."

John handed him his tea and he accepted with a "thank you".

John sniggered into his tea cup at the brothers' interactions. This brother was quite funny. But did they both have to be so childish?

Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm not a child and I'm not going to fall for your utterly ludicrous and ridiculous actions. It's simple. You either tell me what it is you want or I'll simply deny it anyways and you can go find someone else to do your 'dirty work' for you," Sherlock said with a grin.

Sherrinford sighed in exasperation- a bit longer than necessary. He rolled his head back and let it hang off the edge of the armchair. "Okay, Sherlock." He snapped his head forward. John was worried he injured his neck in some way from the feat. "Mycroft has been...decommissioned. Not dead, just out of work. I came in his place. I almost didn't come, you know how I hate people. Anywho, multiple assassins have attempted to take our brother's life and this one almost did. It'll be a while before he will be out of hospital. He has personally asked me to ask you to help me with the endeavor of finding the person who sent the assassins. Mycroft's men have already tracked down that they all _are_ from the same person, but they can't get any farther than that. We don't know if any of the government positions are filled with people who wish to harm brother dear, that's why he can't use the... normal way, so he has asked for us to investigate," he explained, waiting for Sherlock's reaction. "Oh, and I assume that you'll help too, Doctor?" he turned to John. "Mycroft has informed me that you are completely trustworthy," he smiled.

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Someone wants Mycroft dead? Well, what a surprise. Honestly, I'm surprised it's not happened sooner. And I suppose we have nothing to go on other than what you've just told us?"

Sherrinford pulled a vanilla-coloured folder out from his coat and plopped it on the table between him and John. "The man that had attempted to kill Mycroft was killed in the struggle between him and brother dear. That umbrella does have its uses," he smirked. "His body has since been removed and is now in the morgue. It has not been touched. The scuffle happened in his office and nothing has been touched." John was flipping through the folder and asked, "These are the previous assassins?"

"Assumed assassins. We're not sure."

Sherlock had gotten up and was leaning over John's shoulder, looking at the papers.

"You said they scuffled with Mycroft. That says they're not likely seasoned assassins. Someone who'd been killing people for a living for a long while would know how to kill their intended target in one move very easily. They'd do it swiftly and efficiently before fleeing the scene. The fact they didn't kill him immediately tells me this isn't their day job; likely just some idiots who jumped when the word 'money' was mentioned," Sherlock deduced, looking at the files.

Sherrinford smiled. "Glad you're catching on. But," his face was blank, "they emdid/em injure Mycroft severely, which in and of itself is a difficult task. What do you say to that?"

"They...could've caught him in a compromising position?" John offered.

"That tells me they had help from someone on the inside. They'd have never gotten close enough to Mycroft without it. We need to start looking into possible leaks in the government." Sherlock looked up at his brother, slight glee on his features.

"Good. We shall go forthwith." Sherrinford stood, stalked to the door, and turned. "Aren't you coming?"

John sighed. Just _one_ full nights rest...

* * *

***: To see the message, go to 'The Science of Deduction', Hidden Messages, then Hidden Message #1. ****To view all other messages mentioned in this fic, go to #2 and #3 on that same page.**

****: To see what John drew, Google 'Connie Prince Sherlock Website' and it should be the second one listed. Once you click on it, something will pop up saying something about the untimely death of Connie Prince and you can go to the message board. Go there and scroll down a ways until you find a photo 'SH' posted. That's what John drew.**

Did Sherrinford look like Tom Hiddleston to you?

Catch the 'Star Trek' and 'Doctor Who' reference? ;D

I'm planning keeping this as a OneShot because I have no idea where the plot would even go and the whole thing would Sherrinford doesn't coincide with the series at all. The girl I RP'd with had 'a creak at the bottom of the stairs' and neither of us had any idea who it would be and Sherrinford was what made the most sense :/ (even though we all know Moriarty sent those messages in the canon)

Also, the cipher actually _is _a known cipher. I remember seeing it in third grade and when I saw 'Hidden Message #3' I immediately decoded it. I have no idea why they haven't posted the answer yet. 

Review Review Review!


End file.
